


Warm Laundry and Other Nice Things

by j (MoastedRarshmallow)



Series: the one where morty's autistic [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Morty Smith, Ficlet, Rick's a good person i really truly believe this, discussions of disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 15:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15270405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoastedRarshmallow/pseuds/j
Summary: An overwhelmed Beth hesitates to let Morty go on adventures with Rick. He's got a special mind - but how special is too special?





	Warm Laundry and Other Nice Things

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a brief snippet in the fic Infinity Times Infinity - really amazing, check it out once you finish this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5165375?view_full_work=true
> 
> i myself am autistic and have always loved the idea of an autistic rick and/or morty. let me know what u think, and enjoy :>)!  
> ps this is just something small while i work on a much bigger rick and morty fic, be sure to keep an eye out for that in the next couple weeks ;DDD

  A surge of warmth goes through Morty’s body as Rick upends the clean laundry basket on him. He takes in the smell of generic detergent and the little hint of lavender Mommy likes to add sometimes. It – the smell and the warmth – rush down his skull and into his brain, soothing whatever problem he was having to make a slurry of swears and screams rush from his mouth. The problem, whatever it was, becomes slippery in his mind, washed away under his new cave of shirts, shorts, pants and underwear. He quiets.

 “Thanks, Dad, I –“ Mom, who is also Mommy, who Rick, who is Grandpa, calls Beth, says. Her voice is tired, stretched thin, but Morty fails to notice.

 “Yeah, wh-aught-ever, don’t m-mention it,” Rick says. He stutters like Morty does, flubs up his words and stumbles over sentences, but Morty likes it. His voice is comfortably raspy, and the burps make the edge to his words rounded and soft-like. Morty likes soft.

 “I never know what to do when he – when he’s like this,” Mommy, who is Beth, says. Her voice drops an octave, and Morty wishes she would speak up. He hates to be left out of the conversation.

 “You sh-ough-d. He’s w-what, twelve, now?” Rick says. His voice isn’t angry, isn’t mean and hard like Mommy’s gets when she argues with Dad. Mostly about him, Morty realizes, even though he tries not to think about it. And he thinks about it a lot, more than anyone probably thinks he can.

 “Fourteen,” Mom says, nearly a whisper this time.

 “He’s got a s-s-sp-echial mind, l-l-like me,” Rick says, followed by the slurping of liquor. Morty’s only had liquor once, and though it tasted nasty, he enjoyed the warm sensation that followed. Morty’s a big fan of warmth.

 The laundry is starting to cool on top of him, and he stirs. Mommy seems to hold her breath, like he’s going to start screaming again, but he doesn’t. He’s calm.

 “Y-y-you can’t, fear him, like you d-do,” Rick says. “Y-you can’t act like he’s j-just any other kid, e-e-ough-ither.”

 “I’d rather not talk about this in front of Morty –“ Mommy says.

 “That’s e-ough-xactly what I’m talking about, B-beth,” Rick says, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from his mom.

 Dad said Rick had no idea what he was talking about, when this had been brought up before. Said Morty was too severely disabled, that he should have been put somewhere – _away from society –_ a long time ago, and another person in the house was just going to mess with him more. He’d said this in front of Morty, who didn’t like to talk to his Dad, so he went mostly mute around him, staring up with his big brown doe eyes. He understood nearly every word, though – his lack of speech didn’t mean he lacked comprehension.

 “M-uh-orty gets things. He’s smart. Let me- let me teach him,” Rick insists.

 “He’s never done well in school…” his Mom says.

 “He’s never had the r-r-right teacher,” Rick says. “All those spe-chial ed cronies… load of horseshit they teach.”

 The laundry was too cool now, oppressively so. Morty claws out of his clothed prison like a groundhog, popping his mussed head up like a flower through snow. As he sat up, his mom and Rick both notice his shirt – the only one he ever wore – was on backwards. Rick grins up at Beth, who purses her lips.

 “Hey, M-uh-orty,” Rick says. He talks to me like a normal person, Morty thinks, he doesn’t use the fake, high pitched voice his teachers or Mom or even Summer fell into sometimes. “Wanna watch some TV?”

 Morty nods, slowly, making his mom sigh something like _use your words._

 “F-ugh-uck words, man,” Rick says. “Words cause w-augh-rs.” He smiles at Morty, a little drool rolling down his chin, but blessedly doesn’t look him directly in the eyes. Morty keeps his own eyes on his Grandpa’s flask, which plays peek-a-boo out of his lab coat pocket with each breath.

 He reaches out to touch it, and unlike some people, Rick doesn’t flinch away. He lets Morty run his hands over the smooth aluminum surface, stopping him only when he goes to take it.

 “N-no, Morty, you don’t wanna start that habit just y-yet,” he says. When Morty starts to whine, Mom, who is still watch them from the doorway, hmms like Rick’s just set Morty off. Rick clasps on hand on Morty’s shoulder, and the calming pressure is enough to make the antsy-ness in him subside.

 He turns on the TV, and its not too loud, just enough for Morty to concentrate on. Rick turns to give Beth an arched unibrow look of I-told-you-so, and she leaves the room, secretly grateful.

 “Hey, M-ugh-orty,” Rick says, gently pulling Morty’s attention away from the TV. “I th-think we’ll be going on some trips soon, would you like that? See s-ough-ome cool shit?”

 Morty lips do a little wobble, like he might cry, and then he says the first words he’d ever said to Rick since he came to stay with them three months ago.

 “Yeah,” Morty says in a quiet voice. He tugs at his backwards sleeve. “I’d l-like that.”


End file.
